The streets of Bayswater were even busier than usual, and there was a rumbling of pre-election excitement in the atmosphere. Messengers scurried back and forth, groups of men stood talking animatedly on street corners, and someone had called an impromptu meeting where a crowd had collected to hear a debate on whether Lord Beaconsfield or Mr Gladstone was the better man, and what was to be done about Ireland. The air was chill and some enterprising individual was making a quick profit on the sale of hot meat pies.
Frances returned to the school to take the first of the arithmetic lessons to which she had impulsively agreed. Mrs Venn introduced her to the girls and then sat quietly at the back of the schoolroom to observe the new teacher. Frances did not find the headmistress’s presence intrusive, rather it was comforting as she felt it gave her more authority. For the first time, Frances faced the entire class of twelve pupils. Apart from the three doll-eyed Younge girls and Charlotte Fiske, she had not had the opportunity of meeting them before. Sophia Fiske she identified at once as a slightly younger version of Charlotte, although she had a confident, intelligent look that her elder sister lacked. Mr Rawsthorne’s daughters were small round girls, only a year apart in age, who glanced at each other often as if sharing some private amusement. The younger of Mr Paskall’s two daughters had been fortunate enough to inherit her features from her mother, but the eldest had her father’s hawk-like profile and an insolent superior stare, as if challenging observers to notice and comment upon her unusual looks. The two Matthews girls, smaller versions of Selina, gazed at Frances suspiciously, as if she was an exhibit in a display of fairground curiosities. A thin and palely freckled girl with sand coloured hair and eyes of a faded blue was Wilhelmina Danforth, Matthews’ seventeen-year-old ward.
None of them, thought Frances, could appreciate how fortunate they were to enjoy a good education in pleasant surroundings, an education, moreover, which would continue until they were young women about to enter society. She herself had been briefly schooled in crowded classes by harassed teachers overwhelmed by numbers, where she had been expected to absorb only the basic skills which her father had deemed would fit her for a life assisting him in a menial capacity. She had loved her brother Frederick, but how she had envied him the schooling her father had felt no qualms about affording him. She had studied her brother’s schoolbooks in private, alone, with, she suspected, far more eagerness and relish than he had ever shown, read every book on her father’s shelves, and then later prepared herself to take the examinations which would have entered her to study as a pharmacist. That, at least, had met with her father’s grudging approval, and, when he could spare the time from training Frederick, he had given her further instruction. And then, in an instant, the life she had planned for herself was gone, her brother’s accident and lingering death requiring her to be his constant nurse, as she had later been to her distressed and fading father. Work and self-reliance was to be her life, whereas these girls were destined to be wives and mothers, cosseted and protected by men. She wondered which fate was the better.
Frances appreciated that she had been given a simple class to teach, and did not find the task too arduous. She had been told what the girls were studying and which exercises were appropriate to their ages, and after demonstrating by use of a board and chalk how they were to proceed, assigned them their work. Her time was then occupied in marking completed exercises as they were handed in on slips of paper, and helping any girls who were experiencing difficulties. There was room for her to walk between the desks and so she decided to take a tour of the classroom and observe the girls working, which they did quietly and diligently. After a while Mrs Venn, with a nod and a smile of satisfaction, left the room.
As Frances took her seat again, she saw a hand go up. It was Sophia Fiske. ‘Miss Doughty, it’s true, isn’t it, that you’re a detective?’
Frances smiled. ‘That is one occupation I have, yes, but at this very moment, I am a teacher.’
The other girls said nothing, but all of them had glanced at Sophia with interest. ‘But you are watching us, aren’t you?’ said Sophia. ‘Are we all suspected?’
‘I have no suspects at present,’ said Frances, ‘but if any of you has anything to say to me, I would be pleased to discuss it privately after class.’
The girls, after another glance at Sophia, all bent their heads and returned to their arithmetic. Sophia, after a flicker of the eye towards her sister, did so, too. Frances set them an exercise to do, and when the lesson ended and the class left to go to deportment and dance, she sat alone, examining the papers. None of the girls stayed behind to speak to her and she completed her work uninterrupted.
Mrs Venn came to invite her to take luncheon with the staff, and made some polite compliments about her abilities as a teacher. ‘That is kind of you to say so,’ said Frances, ‘and it is as well that I have some small talent in that direction, since I may seek to make my living in that way, if my investigation is unsuccessful.’
‘And no more is known about poor Matilda?’
‘The police are questioning her sweetheart, Mr Harris, and I feel strongly that they have made a very great mistake. I think I will go up to the police station this afternoon and see if there is any news.’
‘Is it quite proper for you to go to such a place?’ asked Mrs Venn, with some dismay.
‘Quite possibly not,’ said Frances, ‘but I have been to far worse in search of the truth. Incidentally, I discovered something this morning which I think you may not know. Were you aware that Matilda’s daughter Edie had passed away?’
‘No, I was not,’ said Mrs Venn. ‘I am very sorry to hear it, of course. Matilda said nothing to me about it, and I did not detect anything in her manner to suggest she had suffered such a loss, neither did she request leave to attend the funeral. Was it very recent?’
Frances studied Mrs Venn’s expression and felt quite sure that she was being truthful. ‘Not at all – the child did not attain her first birthday.’
They were walking down the corridor towards the basement stairs and, as she spoke, Frances saw the headmistress stop suddenly and her body almost swayed against the wall as if she was about to faint, then she quickly put out her hand and recovered herself. If the news of Edie’s death had come as a surprise the fact that it had been so long ago was a palpable shock.
‘How curious,’ said Frances, ‘since you knew of the child’s existence, that she said nothing.’
Mrs Venn took a small handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her face, then she shook her head. After a moment or two she said, ‘I do remember, it would have been about that time, I expect, Matilda did ask permission to go home as she said her mother was unwell and required nursing. She was there for about a week.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Frances, ‘she went to help her mother care for Edie until her death. Why do you think she lied to you?’
‘I really can’t imagine,’ said Mrs Venn, ‘and of course it is now most unlikely that we will ever know.’ She walked firmly on.
Luncheon was soup, bread, cold meat and milk pudding, and while Frances had a good appetite, she saw that Mrs Venn ate little and appeared distracted. Once the meal was over, she prepared to leave and found that the headmistress too had an errand. ‘While I believe it is most improper to intrude on a family’s recent grief,’ she explained, ‘I feel it is my duty to pay a call on Mrs Springett and see if there is anything I can do to assist her at this sad time.’ As she left, her face set and determined, she did not appear to be carrying with her the packet of money found in Matilda’s box, and Frances decided not to prompt her about it.
Frances turned her steps towards Paddington Green police station. She had hoped to see the cheerful face of Constable Brown, but instead found Inspector Sharrock in discussion with the sergeant at the desk. His face had grown redder and his nose was swollen like a giant but unappetizing raspberry, due to what was undoubtedly a heavy cold and catarrh, neither of which was calculated to improve his normally touc
hy temper.
‘Oh no!’ he exclaimed as she entered. ‘What is it this time, Miss Doughty? Treason? Mutiny on the high seas? Better let me know at once so I can go out and arrest the villains. That would save us all a lot of time.’
Frances ignored the jibe. ‘I wish to speak to someone in confidence,’ she said.
‘Well you can’t see Constable Brown, if that was what you were hoping. He’s been transferred to the Detective Division.’
Frances tried not to let her disappointment show.
‘I do have other constables, you know. Some of them are even single.’
The sergeant hid a smile behind his moustache, and Sharrock wiped his nose on a large and unpleasantly soiled handkerchief. ‘Come on, then, Miss Doughty,’ he said heavily, ‘into my office and I can give you a minute or two, but no more.’
‘Have you tried Friar’s Balsam?’ she asked as she followed him into the office, which she was sorry to see was no less chaotic than the last time she had been there.
‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than hang over a basin of hot water,’ he said, throwing himself into a chair, which uttered a noisy squeal of protest. ‘Now, what is it?’
Frances looked about to see if there was a seat which might be either free of heaps of paper or clean, or preferably both. She remained standing. ‘As you may recall, I mentioned that Matilda Springett was thought to have been in possession of unsuitable reading matter.’
‘Yes, and it’s over half of Paddington that she gave them to the girls to read,’ said Sharrock. ‘Have you read them?’
‘No, I have not.’
‘Unwise of the girl, but it’s not exactly a police matter. Why should I be interested, unless you have brought samples?’
‘It appears that Mrs Venn disposed of the items rather than risk having them fall into innocent hands, but it has since occurred to her that the publisher might have further copies. She is anxious to trace the publisher so that he might agree to withdraw them. I had wondered if the publisher or seller might be already known to you for offences such as publication of criminal literature; maybe libel or slander. If you could advise me of any such, I would be most obliged.’
‘Libel and slander?’ said Sharrock. ‘We don’t get a lot of that round here. Stealing, yes, fighting, yes, and doing just about anything while drunk. But I’ll keep my eyes open. No doubt with the election on its way we’ll have libel and slander thick as snowflakes.’ He sneezed noisily and Frances backed away in distaste.
‘Jem Springett told me that when he identified the body of his sister he saw bruises on her throat,’ she said. ‘He was certain that she had been murdered.’
Sharrock grunted. ‘Yes, well neither of you is a doctor, and nor am I, so let’s leave all that till we get a verdict at the inquest.’
‘But you are treating Matilda’s death as murder, or you would not still be holding Davey Harris in custody. Do you suspect him?’
‘And what is that to you?’ Sharrock demanded.
‘It is not my personal concern,’ said Frances, ‘but Mrs Springett and her son and their neighbour Mrs Brooks are unanimous in their belief that Mr Harris would never have harmed Matilda.’
‘Well all that is very interesting, but it’s not exactly evidence is it?’ said Sharrock. ‘If I freed every suspect whose friends thought he was an angel we’d be in a right pickle.’
The door opened and the sergeant peered in. ‘He’s ready to go now, Sir.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ said Sharrock gloomily. ‘All right, I’ll have a word.’ He heaved himself out of his chair and pointed a warning finger at her. ‘And you, Miss Doughty, are not, and I repeat not, to go poking your nose where young ladies have no business. You’ve got yourself quite a reputation, and it isn’t a good one. There’s people round here are saying you are some sort of a detective. I hope you know better than that.’
He stamped out, closing the door behind him, but Frances quickly pulled it open and saw a constable bringing Davey Harris from the cells, while the sergeant returned to him such property as had been in his pockets on his arrest.
‘Now mind, this doesn’t mean we don’t have our suspicions!’ said Sharrock to Davey, who stood with his head down, blinking despondently. ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you, I can promise you that!’ Davey hurried away and Sharrock headed back to the office and scowled as he saw Frances in the doorway. ‘Now, unless you have a photograph of the murderer caught in the act with his name pinned to his chest, you can go, and I don’t expect to see you here again.’ He slumped into his chair again and submitted to a fit of coughing and sneezing.
Frances was eager to leave and rushed out after Davey Harris. She knew that Sharrock in his annoyance had made a slip in admitting that as far as the police were concerned Matilda had been murdered. ‘Mr Harris!’ she exclaimed, and Davey paused and looked around. ‘I hope you remember me, I’m Miss Doughty – I called at Mrs Springett’s house. I was in the police station just now to ask if there was any news.’
He gazed at her mournfully and shivered. ‘No, no news. I’d best get home.’ He walked quickly on.
‘They’ll be pleased to see you,’ said Frances, trotting alongside him, gathering her skirts so she could keep pace. ‘They never believed that you had done anything wrong, and neither did I.’
‘Nor would I. Why would I harm my girl? It was just that I had some scratches on my arm, and – well – it was the way it looked. Lucky for me someone remembered seeing me with them earlier in the day.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ said Frances, ‘can you tell me if Matilda ever earned any money apart from her wages from the school? She must have been eager to save up for the wedding, and it may be that she did some extra work. Perhaps someone paid her to distribute pamphlets. Was she ever a member of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society?’
He stopped and stared at her. ‘Women’s suffrage? No, my Tilly never bothered herself about things like that.’
‘But she was able to save towards the wedding, and give her mother money every week. Perhaps the Society paid her to hand out pamphlets for them. It’s harmless enough, though the school did believe the material to be a little advanced for its pupils.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘She never did anything like that, not as far as I know. She did have some money put by for the wedding, but she didn’t say how much.’
‘But surely she can’t have saved up and helped her mother out of her wages from the school.’
He dragged both hands through his hair. ‘Why do you want to know all this?’ he groaned. ‘She was a good girl – the very best, she’d never have done anything wrong.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ said Frances soothingly, ‘and I believe that the school is quite wrong in suspecting that Matilda may have done something – inadvisable. If I could be reassured that any money she came by was from an honest source, then that would remove any stain of suspicion from her memory.’
He chewed his lower lip and thought about this, then walked back and forth a pace or two, shivering. Finally he stood still. ‘Well, she told me not to say anything, but —’
Frances waited, expectantly. She had done all the gentle prodding she could, and now allowed the gap of silence to draw him in.
‘I suppose it’s all one, now,’ he said with a sigh. ‘She got given money by a charity. Only she wasn’t to tell anyone about it as they only had so much to give, and so they picked out deserving cases, special, and helped them.’
‘What charity was this?’ asked Frances.
‘I don’t know anything about it, but Tilly said to me that there was a kind lady who gave money to girls who were about to be wed. And she had got some money from her and was keeping it for our wedding.’
‘Did she tell you the name of the lady?’
He shook his head. ‘No, only that she was a fine lady who liked to do good.’
‘Did she see the lady often?’
‘I don’t believe she
saw her more than the once. But she did say that she was hoping to see her again, and that she would have more money from her – quite a lot more – and it would help set me up in business properly, maybe get a little workshop.’
Frances looked into Davey’s simple, grief-torn face, and wondered what it was that Matilda had strayed into that had got her killed.
CHAPTER TEN
Westbourne Hall on the Grove was a building with a charmingly ornate four-storey façade, and was much used in Bayswater for concerts and meetings of all kinds. Frances recalled having once been taken there by her uncle for a musical entertainment, but in recent years the demands of first her brother’s and then her father’s illness had prevented any such amusements. In any case, her father had disapproved of the theatre and regarded attendance at political meetings as pointless for a female.
The carriage hired by Miss Gilbert and Miss John appeared promptly at a quarter to seven. Miss John, with a sweet smile and her eyes sparkling with suppressed excitement, carefully cradled a large parcel which Frances was sure contained her new banner. Miss Gilbert, all noisy enthusiasm with a stream of words bubbling from her lips, was momentarily silenced when introduced to Sarah. After the usual politenesses, she turned her head aside and murmured something that sounded like ‘remarkable.’
Frances was interested to see that the people crowding around the Hall and presenting their tickets to the doorkeepers were respectably dressed and well-behaved, and there were a number of men amongst them. She said as much to Miss Gilbert, who smiled in a very satisfied way.
‘Many gentlemen are enlightened enough to support our cause,’ she said, ‘and with the election about to descend upon us this is an important and most opportune time. I have it on very good authority that Mr Grant, one of the Liberal candidates, is a sympathiser, and I will ask him to state it explicitly the very first chance I have. While gentlemen cannot yet look to us for votes they ought not to ignore the influence of ladies upon the outcome of the election. Many men of sense will, I am sure, listen to their wives and sisters when making their decisions. I shall be addressing the meeting on that point and also urging the drawing up of a petition to be presented to the new parliament on the subject both of female suffrage and the property rights of married women. They cannot refuse us! They will not!’
The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery (The Frances Doughty Mysteries) Page 12
